7 March 1945

Walt recommends the movie “A Guy Named Joe” to anyone connected to flying. He saw it 3-4 times and would see it again gladly.

Walt ends with a treatise on the faithfulness of the green ink pen Ruth gave him two years ago, and yet how glad he’ll be not to have to write letters anymore when the war is over.

A transcript follows the letter images.

Transcript:

3-7-45

Hello Sweetheart

How are you this evening? Fine I hope—Hope your little vacation took away some of the boresomeness of life.

I’m feeling O.K.—Didn’t fly today. Slept in this morning ’til ten oclock and played bridge this afternoon—Nice easy day unh?

Went to the show this evening and saw “A Guy Named Joe” for the third or fourth time.—I think it is a show everyone who flies or is connected with people who fly should see. If I get a chance I’ll probably see it again.

Didn’t get a letter today—I’ve been getting mail fairly regular lately and I miss your letters when they fail to reach me. I guess I can say little on that score tho, after me sitting around for days on

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end and not writing to you—But—at the present I’m trying to change that a bit—At any rate I’m writing a little more regular, don’t you think? I was beginning to get ashamed of myself. I’ll bet you weren’t any too pleased either, Unh?

When are you going to send me those pictures of you in the new coat or aren’t they developed yet—Hope they turn out O.K.

Those blured spots on the other side are the results of drinking coffee while writing a letter, makes a mess doesn’t it?—My letters are pretty much of a mess anyway.

How do you like this stationary,—Special Service finally “got on the ball” and got a few things in for us. They will probably suffer a relapse

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now and crawl back in their hole for another six months.

If you want something to write about—How about telling me a few of your Dads everyday jokes—I reckon he still cracks a few.

Say Honey—How about telling me how much you paid for the green pen and pencil you got me for Xmas a couple of years ago—That is a funny thing to ask—But you know—the blame thing never sputters, coughs, grunts or otherwise gives me any trouble—It is a faithful little companion—moreso to you then to me I guess. In fact if I had to I guess I could write an essay on its good points.

The pencil wasn’t worth a damn and quickly fell by the wayside but this pen has certainly covered

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the miles, never staggering, never faltering—Thru mud, sweat, dust, fog, rain, sun and several other obstacles—Thoughts of beauty, love, sadness, lonliness, happiness, craziness, madness etc. plus no thoughts at all have poured, not so bountifully, but poured thru its slender gold covered whatchmacallit. Never once after it released them has it taken them back—(I’m working on that now)—(Have to get some ink that doesn’t dry so fast and then rig up a vacuum pump on the fool thing) Even tho I have a lot of respect for it, and want to express to you my dear, how thankfull I am that you gave it to me. ————

I’ll be the happiest boy alive when I can take it by its slender hickamajig and give it a good healthy twist and throw it in the drink someplace between here and Frisco and from that day

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until Doomsday—I’ll get all tangled up in your apron strings until it is impossible to get loose—and do all my writing with (Whoa there!) And do all my communication by word of mouth or any other suitable method such as throwing dishes, brickbats, hollering “Hey”,—whistling or cooing, I mean wooing or maybe by just looking. At any rate I want you close enough that I won’t have to write—preferably close enough to touch you—